I awoke on his side of my bed, tangled in the comforter;
his body pillow stowed away on the floor, instead the empty space kept me warm.
Remnants of yesterday fall like dry, dead skin in the carpet,
the smell of dust particles in sunlight, receding shadows called back to the dull stars.
A bloated tea bag, cherry blossoms dangling from branches,
plump raisins suspended in milk – the patience of mornings and seasons.
Sunlit branches sway in a cold wind, birds serenade
spring in this winter month.
The waking world is blurry; I lap up my tea, tasting,
and watch my slowed hand move across the page.